


The Gods Are Dead, They Say

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Psych
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Idk if this even makes sense, Inspired By Tumblr, Poetry, i didn't proofread a n y t h i n g, psych characters as greek gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: They are wrong.





	The Gods Are Dead, They Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myglassesaredirty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/gifts).



> Claire asked. I answered.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
They haven’t looked close enough, or  
They are small-minded, unable to see  
Anything or anyone that is not a towering figure  
A supernova of a being  
A fantastical deity from a long-faded tapestry.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
They do not see Athena  
Behind the frosted glass doors that read  
Chief of Police  
Her eyes may not be the classic, stormy grey  
But where else would you find  
The goddess of law and justice  
The goddess of war and strategy  
The goddess of wisdom and skill?  
She has been commanding warriors for millenia  
Giving orders  
Halting the bad  
Pursuing the good.  
Why should she stop now?

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
Their eyes skate over Hermes  
All because he has traded his winged sandals for a motorcycle  
A thief and a on-man may not be exactly the same  
But they are close  
Close enough  
He travels still  
Away from Santa Barbara  
Across the country  
Back to his hometown  
And then away again  
In Canada, he meets an art thief  
(they share the same adventurous spirit, the same thirst for mischief)  
And in Canada, he falls in love.  
No. He’s been falling in love for much longer than that.  
But it is hard, so hard  
For a god of travel to stay  
For a god of trickery to tell the truth  
It takes all of his strength  
Not to fly away  
Can’t it be enough, that there are people here who need him?  
It was easier when there were temples  
But the temples are all long gone.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
The Gods have only faded.  
They have faded  
And they have melded.  
After all, who can say when good luck becomes bad?  
Who can say when your strongest ally may become your darkest foe?  
Tyche and Nemesis  
Two sides of the same coin  
The goddess of good fortune  
All joyful laughter and kind blue eyes and soft blonde curls  
Paperwork finished just in time for date night  
Triumphing over an enemy just before they can do harm  
The goddess of revenge  
Unyielding metal cuffs too tight on the wrists of those who would hurt her friends  
(her family)  
A shotgun cocking, aimed at a blonde spitting blood on cement  
(She is not truly the one to blame, but Yin must pay, somehow)  
They look the same  
They look harmless  
But luck can go either way  
And this woman, these goddesses, are not ones you want to risk angering.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
The Gods have been imprisoned, is all.  
She’ll be out soon enough-  
Six to eighteen months  
And Aphrodite will be free once again  
Even all this time later, there is no mistaking her charm  
Who else could sway a dedicated detective  
And gain his trust  
(His love)  
After only a few minutes’ acquaintance?  
He calls her   
_My Dearest_  
Even after he cuffs her wrists  
And reads her his rights  
She does not fault him for it  
She can teach him  
She _will_ teach him  
How to love

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
Apollo still has a beautiful voice  
And he moves with the grace of a deer.  
The god of medicine focuses on helping people  
Peddling his healing wares across Santa Barbara.  
He is a steadfast best friend  
His cheer is as all-encompassing as sunlight  
He exudes the sense of calm  
That comes after reading a well written poem.  
He is not as flashy  
Or as loud  
As he once was  
But the god of the sun  
The god of poetry  
The god of medicine  
Lives on.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
They do not see Ares in the hardened detective  
Who hunches over his desk  
Writing report after report  
Burning with the fire of war.  
They see the aftermath:  
Congratulatory headlines on a job well done  
Ramrod-straight posture on a news report  
But they do not see the shots fired  
They do not see the bleeding bodies  
They do not see the toll it takes  
To be at war all the time  
His partner helps  
(the bullets tend to miss you with the goddess of luck on your side)  
His girlfriend helps  
(but she can only help so much, from her dark, unfriendly cell, and whose fault is it that she’s stuck there?)  
But as always  
The majority of Ares’ battles  
Are ones he has to fight alone.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
They look past the aging man on the fishing boat  
Perhaps they wince at his multicolored hawaiian shirt  
But mostly, they pay him no heed  
They do not see Poseidon on his motorboat throne  
Because he has been protecting these waters for so long  
That he goes unnoticed.  
The water spraying from the faucet sends his wife into peals of laughter  
The waves on the beach make his son grin  
(at eight and at twenty-eight)  
The sound of the ocean is a comfort to the whole city  
Yet still they overlook him  
The tired cop  
Barely bound to the land  
As he rules the water nonetheless.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.  
Hera has adapted  
She stands out less  
But her powers are still strong  
Her husband, though far away, does not think of anyone but her  
Her son knows she is there every time he survives something he shouldn’t have  
(when you have the heart of the goddess of luck  
And the goddess of family  
You cannot lose)  
She helps strangers-  
Patients-  
too,  
Reassuring them that their shortcomings  
Are not unfixable  
Nurturing them back  
From the darkest places people go  
She may not have saved her own marriage  
But her energy  
Her heart  
Is strong.  
She will save others.  
And in time,  
She herself will be whole again.  
Perhaps, when that happens, she will return  
To the city of sunlight and beaches and love.  
The city  
(the people)  
she never should have left.

The Gods are dead, they say.  
They are wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first time sharing my poetry, but I have other Psych-inspired poems if anyone's interested! Leave a comment (or find me at chiefkarenvick on tumblr) and I might post them!


End file.
